


сome collect your debt

by Eguinerve



Series: demon!Maleagant [2]
Category: La Légende du Roi Arthur - Savio & Skread & Zaho/Chouquet/Attia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Attempt at Humor, Demon Deals, Demon Summoning, Horns, Idiots in Love, M/M, References to Supernatural (TV), demon!Maleagant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eguinerve/pseuds/Eguinerve
Summary: Maleagant wonders if that brief interest he saw in Arthur’s eyes is capable of growing into something more, if there is hope for him to have the same devotion Arthur’s ex so foolishly discarded. He wonders how it would feel to curl in Arthur’s arms and let him stroke the sensitive skin at the base of his horns.
Relationships: Arthur/Maleagant (La Légende du Roi Arthur)
Series: demon!Maleagant [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827469
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	сome collect your debt

**Author's Note:**

> that one fic where Maleagant actually doesn’t overthink everything... TOO much

“This series is beyond stupid,” Maleagant grumbles, bundling himself up in a thick, warm blanket. He’s feeling cold and irritable and Urien’s company doesn’t make his mood any better. 

It never does. 

“Well, yeah, but it’s also weirdly entertaining.” Urien pauses the episode, deliberately choosing a moment when demon Crowley gives Bobby a way too enthusiastic kiss. It certainly serves well to remind Maleagant of the things he doesn’t _want_ to be reminded of. “Besides, they got some things right.” 

Like _the summoning spell_ , which would be the demons’ worst nightmare if ordinary humans were actually capable of using it. Unfortunately, there is still enough magical blood flowing in the veins of those clueless about the existence of the Other Side, so once in a while, some poor sod actually manages to summon a demon to their geek party. 

_Or_ to yet another Satanic ritual. 

Maleagant is absolutely _sick_ of his kind having such an awful reputation. 

“Almost _everything_ they show is wrong,” he retorts. “As if we need any more infamy. Tell me, why these days all magical creatures are seen as either horrible monsters or… whatever Twilight meant to portray?” 

Sometimes Maleagant wonders how many humans would be severely disappointed to discover that life on the Other Side has nothing in common with their ludicrous fantasies. Their worlds aren’t that different. They both have laws, restrictions, licenses… _so much paperwork._

Maleagant sighs. 

Even on his day off, he can’t manage to relax and stop thinking about work. 

“There are plenty of exceptions.” Urien rolls his eyes. “And don’t pretend like you’ve never seen _the Twilight type_ in real life.” 

“Mopey or sparkly? 

“Both.” 

Maleagant smirks, but his amusement is short-lived. He’s perfectly aware that he’s _sulking_ , and it has nothing to do with awful television or Urien being Urien or even the abundance of paperwork. 

“Speaking of moping,” Urien drawls, easily reading Maleagant’s mind without having an actual ability to do that. “I take it you still haven’t collected from this boy… What was his name? Ah, yes, _Arthur_.” 

_Ah, yes, Arthur_. 

Maleagant sincerely regrets that he told Urien about that unfortunate encounter. He thought it _amusing_ back then, slightly irritating and maybe vaguely enchanting, but certainly nothing more than that. 

Trust his unbearably complicated psyche to make things difficult. 

“I haven’t,” he admits, keeping his voice even. “But my mood has nothing to do with that.” 

“Sure,” Urien says. “Sure, and Hell is an icy wasteland.” 

“Hell doesn’t exist.” Maleagant curves his lips in a grimace of disdain. “And you really should stop promoting human fallacies, it’s getting annoying.” 

He genuinely doesn’t get _why_ Urien delights in playing into the numerous stereotypes that exist among humans, even those who _do_ belong to their world. It’s _bothersome_ to deal with animosity those misconceptions bring, although Maleagant is self-aware enough to admit that his general demeanor doesn’t really help to improve the situation. 

Urien shrugs. 

“It’s fun,” he says. “And you’re avoiding the topic. Look, say what you want, but it’s very much unlike you to work pro bono.” 

_You sure believe the world owes you,_ goes unsaid, but Maleagant heard that enough times to recognize the implication of Urien’s words. 

He’s also not _wrong_ , even if that’s the most pleasant way to put it. 

Maleagant has always been an overachiever, way too ambitious _,_ not beyond his abilities but certainly beyond his luck. He’s tasted enough failure and disappointments to become _obsessive_ about what he gets in turn for his efforts, and him being very strict about collecting the payments for his deals is just a small part of it. 

It’s perfectly fair. 

He _learned_ to be fair in his claims. 

“I can’t do something _pro bono_ ,” he says, “if I haven’t essentially _done_ anything.” 

Truly, Maleagant didn’t lift a finger to perform his part of Arthur’s contract, and yet— 

“And yet the contract is fulfilled!” Urien sounds entirely too gleeful. “You can’t fool magic. You can, however, fool _yourself_.” 

Maleagant scowls. 

Can he? He certainly _tried_ , but did he succeed? 

There was _something_ in Arthur that left a seed in Maleagant’s soul, tiny and insignificant, but it took root and now there is no hope to pull it out. 

He should’ve known the danger from the start. 

Maleagant doesn’t suffer fools. He hates recklessness and stupidity, it irritates them beyond measure, so _why_ all of those things in Arthur seemed inexplicably _adorable_? 

It sickens him to even _think_ this word, but no other would fit so well. 

The thing is, Arthur seemed— _kind_. Beyond his foolishness and incompetence, there was genuine kindness in his soul, something light and pure. Maleagant dealt with enough people to know how rare it is, how _cherished_ it should be. 

He just never thought himself capable of appreciating such a thing, but maybe the opposites _do_ attract. _Maybe_ Maleagant is just a moth flying towards the flame. 

He sighs. 

If he is honest with himself, he knows exactly the moment he doomed himself. He shouldn’t have chosen a kiss, a way to seal the deal that may have been perfectly legit but also completely _unnecessary_. A handshake would do. 

A _handshake_ wouldn’t have left Maleagant with the memory of soft, pliant mouth and warm breath on his lips, of tenderness in gentle brown eyes that seemed alight with newborn, tentative hope. 

Things would’ve been so much _easier_ if Maleagant’s attraction to Arthur was carnal in nature, if he wanted nothing but sex, quick and easy to forget. Instead— 

Instead, Maleagant wonders if that brief interest he saw in Arthur’s eyes is capable of growing into something more, if there is hope for him to have the same devotion Arthur’s ex so foolishly discarded. 

He wonders how it would feel to curl in Arthur’s arms and let him stroke the sensitive skin at the base of his horns. 

This is a _nightmare._

“Why _won’t_ you collect?” Urien asks. He sounds more serious — less _mocking_ — this time, perhaps genuinely wanting to understand Maleagant’s reasons. “You have every right to do that. You like the guy. Ask him on a date or something.” 

As if Maleagant hasn’t thought about it countless times. 

He even sort of implied that he’d do just that, back then when he was still caught up in the mood, when his mind was still a little hazy from the kiss and he was feeling— 

Hopeful. Desired. 

He didn’t doubt at the time that Arthur wanted it too, but _now_? 

The more he thinks about it the more he hesitates, the more he gets tangled up in his own conflicting emotions. 

The contract promises Maleagant a favor. Asking for a date is within his right, but the thing that bothers him is that Arthur won’t be able to _refuse_. It feels wrong — it feels _pathetic_ to ask for a chance when rejection isn’t possible. 

Arthur is — he _was_ — attracted to Maleagant, that much is true, but how much is it worth? How much is _left_ of it, when his heart is finally free and his opportunities are countless? 

Maleagant isn’t easy to deal with. He’s never anyone’s first choice, but cheating won’t _change_ that. 

Of course, he won’t say any of this to Urien. 

“He’s Morgana’s baby brother,” he mutters instead. 

Uriens laughs. Completely shameless, he throws his head back and _laughs_ at Maleagant. 

“This is incredible,” he says, still chuckling. “I bet it was her doing. I mean, you _did_ ask her for love this once.” 

Maleagant winces. That’s something he _does not_ want to think about. He learned his lesson and refuses to repeat his mistakes, he _knows_ that love can’t be bought or magicked or collected like a debt, although apparently— 

No. What’s going on between him and Arthur is _not_ love in any shape or form. It won’t have a chance to become anything more than vague attraction, because Maleagant _will not_ see Arthur aga— 

The summoning spell hits him like an invisible hook forced under his ribs, its pull is insistent and almost physically painful. For fuck’s sake, it’s his _day off_. The last time this happened Maleagant was in the middle of a frankly boring party he didn’t mind escaping, but _now_ he’s watching trash TV in his pajamas and has exactly _zero_ desire to move. The thing is— 

The thing is he knows, he _recognizes_ the voice that calls for him. It rings inside of his head, pleasantly low and comfortingly warm and just a little bit husky. 

Maleagant should refuse the summon. He should slam down his mental shields, call it a night and go to bed early. He has every right to do just that, but— 

What if Arthur doesn’t call again? 

Maleagant curses under his breath. 

“I’m being summoned,” he says to Urien. “I have to answer in case it’s something important. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. You probably should go home.” 

It’s not his most _polite_ dismissal, but it’s also far from the worst Urien has ever heard from him. Their sort-of-friendship has always been somewhat antagonistic, which perfectly suited them both, and Maleagant knows for a fact that Urien won’t be offended at being basically kicked out of the flat. 

There is a big chance that at the end of the day his bar would be missing yet another bottle of expensive whiskey, but that’s a small price to pay for convenience. 

Getting on his feet, Maleagant concentrates on the summoning and lets it guide him.

It is surprisingly easy. The call is strong, it feels clear and _clean_ , so Arthur must’ve taken care to correct his previous mistakes. Maleagant pulls himself through the space-between-spaces, choosing to arrive at the place of summoning without his usual flair. 

He doesn’t need to _impress_ Arthur, he reasons with himself. 

Well, not like this. 

“ _Hey_.”

Maleagant blinks. He feels unfocused and slightly nauseous — those two glasses of whiskey he had earlier definitely didn’t agree with transdimensional travel — but at least he manages to keep his composure. 

He raises his head to meet Arthur’s eyes. 

Arthur looks— 

He looks _good_ , unfairly so, which is impossible to miss. The pentagram is clearly not the only thing he bothered to clean up. His beard looks neat, his clothes are simple but flattering, even his hair appears to be styled. Maleagant would’ve appreciated the effort, but he feels awfully _underdressed_ in his pajamas. 

At least, this doesn’t seem to bother Arthur. His expression softens the moment their eyes meet, a small smile touches his lips as if he’s genuinely pleased to see him. 

“Good evening to you too,” Maleagant says. “It’s still not my working hours.” 

Arthur lets a short, awkward laugh and ruffles his hair. 

“I’m aware,” he admits. “I’m sort of— I didn’t want this to be about work, you know?”

Maleagant doesn’t. He _doesn’t_ know what Arthur is talking about, or maybe— _rather_ , he’s too wary to presume. 

_Hopeful_ isn’t something he knows how to be. 

“Then what’s this about?” he asks brusquely. 

He thinks about leaving the pentagram — the containment sigil isn’t even _there_ — but making himself comfortable in Arthur’s flat just doesn’t seem _right_. He enjoyed pushing the boundaries the last time, he felt _in control_ the last time, and now— 

Now he feels like the tables have turned and he does _not_ like it. 

“It’s been almost four months,” Arthur says, “and you still haven’t come to collect.” 

There is a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, of doubt, or perhaps even fear. It was so foolishly brave of him to summon Maleagant once more, but courage can only take him so far. 

“I’ve never specified the date.” 

It’s true, but that doesn’t change the fact that Maleagant deliberately let Arthur believe he’ll be coming to him soon. He knows it, he just doesn’t want to _admit_ it.

“Well, no,” Arthur licks his lips. “But I thought… I got the impression that maybe you’re…” 

He shakes his head and grows silent. His uncertainty grows, it shines through his eyes, it shows in the slump of his shoulders, in how _dejected_ he seems. He looks like a kicked puppy, and Maleagant isn’t _that_ heartless. 

He doesn’t know what kind of game he’s playing. 

He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so— _scared_ by the prospect that once seemed simple and clear. He’s never had any trouble feeding his desires, seducing people — creatures, _whatever_ — enjoying brief and meaningless and ultimately forgettable, but— 

He _knows_ even without looking into his soul that this is not what Arthur wants. 

Worse, this is not what _Maleagant_ wants. 

It’s not about love. It’s not even necessarily about something lasting, but it’s about— 

Closeness and intimacy, long talks and sweet kisses and _cuddles_. 

It’s about something Maleagant never truly had. There was a time when he convinced himself he doesn’t need it, there was a time when he was _obsessed_ with it, there was a time when he gave up, and now— 

“It worked,” Arthur says quietly. “Not right away, perhaps not quite as easily as I had hoped, but it _worked_. I can’t say that losing Guinevere no longer hurts, but at least it doesn’t feel like I’m stuck in a loop and can’t move on. At least I no longer spend my nights tossing and turning and thinking about her, but...”

“But?” 

Arthur’s mouth folds into a not-quite grimace. He takes a step towards Maleagant, he looks like he wants to come even closer, but stills himself. 

“Instead, I think about you,” he admits. “I’m not— I’m not _obsessed_ or anything, if this is not something you want I’m _fine_ with it, but it felt like a promise, you know? Perhaps, I’ve read the situation wrong. Perhaps, it’s stupid of me to think you could be interested in me, but I—” 

“I am,” Maleagant interrupts. “I _am_ interested.” 

Arthur is brave, he isn’t shy about his desires, so why can’t Maleagant be the same? 

It seems so natural, so easy to trust Arthur. There is nothing deceptive about him, nothing insincere or fake, and Maleagant _needs_ this. 

It’s too tempting to let himself overthink everything that’s going on, too tempting to go back to his worst patterns and convince himself that it’s not for him, that he should avoid like the plague the very thing that can possibly make him _happy_. 

Maybe it won’t. 

Maybe this won’t work out, but he certainly won’t find out if he doesn’t _try_. 

“I am interested,” he repeats, and Arthur looks so damn _hopeful_ . “But this isn’t me performing my part of the contract, by magic or any other means. I’m not going to be your _rebound_.” 

Maleagant knows that he won’t be, not really. Arthur _did_ move on, the magic doesn’t make mistakes and the contract is already fulfilled, but Maleagant did play an unwitting role in this. Whatever was in their encounter, some simpler or immensely more complicated magic, it was enough to open before Arthur a new possibility, a new— 

“You won’t be,” Arthur shakes his head, his conviction true and strong. “I _promise_ you that. It’s more like… a new beginning, maybe?” 

“A new beginning,” Maleagant repeats. 

This can work. 

They do belong to different worlds, but relationships between humans and demons aren’t unheard of, and while he’s pretty sure that Arthur still doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, Maleagant does. 

Both Morgana and Urien are going to be absolutely _insufferable_ , but maybe— He’s almost sure that it’s very well worth it. 

“I like the sound of it,” he says, his lips curving into a small, barely-there smile. 

Arthur’s answering smile is beautiful and blinding, it’s bright like the sun, but its warmth is gentle instead of scorching. 

What Arthur can give Maleagant is worth so much more than the favor he owes, but Maleagant isn’t _collecting_ it. 

He isn’t giving it up either. 

He’s certain he’ll find a few things he won’t want Arthur saying “no” to. 

“Good! That’s… good.” Arthur keeps smiling. “By the way, I’m truly sorry for summoning you like this, but I don’t exactly have your number. I mean. Can I have your number?”

“Sure,” Maleagant chuckles. “Get something to write it down.” 

He watches with faint amusement as Arthur scrambles to fish the phone out of his pocket, endearingly clumsy and unnecessary hurried. He almost drops it twice, curses thrice, the tips of his ears look suspiciously red, and Maleagant is _enamoured_ but also seriously questioning his tastes. 

He still doesn’t hesitate to give Arthur his number. 

“Call me when you’re free,” he says, “and we’ll discuss meeting somewhere more appropriate. I’m sure you understand that I’m not quite _ready_ for our first date.” 

“Of course,” Arthur nods. “Sorry again. You can go, I’m not holding you. But… before you do, can I just…” 

“What?” 

“Can I…” he licks his lips and averts his eyes as if suddenly ashamed. “Can I touch your horns? Just a little?” 

Maleagant stares. 

This is most definitely _not_ what he expected. The request itself may not be particularly rude or embarrassingly intimate — not that Arthur would know if it _was_ — it’s just that it’s _weird_. 

It’s weird and unfamiliar, like pretty much everything between them. 

“Sorry,” Arthur’s eyes flicker to him. “Sorry, is that, like, inappropriate?” 

“It _is_ ,” Maleagant drawls, amused despite himself. “I don’t usually let people _touch my horns_ until at least the third date.” 

He doesn’t let people touch his horns _period_. He doesn’t let people stroke his hair or cuddle him or do any of the things that speak of an actual _relationship_ , but he already admitted this isn’t his usual. 

“Sorry,” Arthur repeats. 

Maleagant takes a step towards him, just to be closer, just to invade his space and see if he can mess with him a little more. Arthur’s eyes are wide open, he looks both embarrassed and eager — hopeful, maybe — and Maleagant can’t very well say _no_ to him, can he? 

“It’s not something I allow lightly,” he murmurs. “I’m sure you know the implications…” 

“No?” 

Maleagant smirks. 

“Then you’ll find out,” he says. “You can touch.”

A hint of suspicion flickers in the depths of Arthur’s eyes, but it’s not strong enough to battle the temptation. It’s not strong enough to make him even hesitate as he already reaches towards the top of Maleagant’s head. 

“Oh my god,” Arthur whispers, breathless. 

His fingertips poke the peaks of the horns, they brush the skin around them which sends a pleasant shiver down Maleagant’s spine. He keeps his face straight, but the amusement seeps through, and suddenly everything seems so clear and _easy_. 

It’s been like that the very first time they’ve met. 

It may always be like that with Arthur. 

“Certainly not _god_ ,” Maleagant murmurs, unable to help himself. “I think I’ve earned myself another favor.” 

Arthur blinks and lowers his hand. 

“Are we going to seal this deal too?” he sounds hopeful. 

“We are,” Malegant promises. “Most certainly we _are_.” 

There will be countless of deals between them, the ones that in truth aren’t deals at all, but trading kisses and small favors sounds _exciting_ , having control over Arthur is _tempting_ , and Maleagant has no wish to refuse himself the things he wants. 

He won’t be chasing the things he isn’t meant to have, he won’t be obsessing or overthinking, but he’ll _accept_ what fate gave him.

He knows this isn’t something he’ll ever regret.


End file.
